


Rose Petals & Secrets

by offbrandowl (queenowl)



Series: Setleth [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Romance, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 11:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20241955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenowl/pseuds/offbrandowl
Summary: Seteth summons Byleth after she sends a romantic, if dangerous surprise. First to talk, and later, to let lips do the talking...





	Rose Petals & Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers if you have not played Seteth/Flayn's paralogue or reached Seteth and Flayn's A support (with each other.)

"Seteth, I've got something for you!" Seteth looks up from his book, wondering what could possibly possess Cyril to approach him at this time of day. Namely because... he checks the window. By the angle of the sun, it should be about the time of day when he replaces the flowers in Rhea's bedroom. Either way, for him to interrupt his work to come here first is... well. It must be something urgent.  
  
"Cyril, do come in. How may I help you?"  
  
"The professor asked me to drop by and give you this invitation, see?"  
  
"Invitation?" He shuts the book. _From Byleth?_  
  
"She said it was real urgent that I get it to you as quick as possible. I think it's supposed to be for tea!" Cyril wipes his nose on the back of his free hand. "Don't worry! I didn't open it or nothing, but it smells kind of flowery. The tea the professor makes is real good though so I wouldn't leave her waiting."  
  
Seteth knows that he wouldn't leave her waiting, either, but he's hardly going to express that to a child. He nods briskly, hand out to receive the paper envelope. It's... strangely soft.  
  
"Thank you, Cyril. Are you doing well? Did you need anything else?"  
  
"Oh, nah. Thanks but I'm doing pretty good today. I've got a mountain of things to do for Lady Rhea. I was just talking to the professor and when I told her I was on my way to clean the library, she asked me if I could give that to you." As usual, the boy is intent on working himself to death. Seteth resists the urge to smile. At times, he isn't sure if he should praise his work ethic or express frustration at his one track-mindedness. Seteth settles on a reply.

"As usual, I commend you for your hard working mindset, Cyril." The young boy nods back with large, too serious eyes for a child then strolls off whistling, leaving Seteth alone with the invitation in hand. His eyes trail behind the boy thoughtfully. He really ought to council him into having more direction. Such youthful energy and dedication are precious, and he cannot help but think that they are better used elsewhere. Perhaps a counseling session is in order.

But now, the matter at hand. Or in hand, he should say.

The envelope in his hands taunts him with its weight. "..." He would never admit it, but he can't help but take a whiff of the paper before opening it. Cyril is right--it smells positively flowery. An odd choice, actually. Byleth knows his tastes well, and he prefers his tea strongly spiced and not at all herbal.  
  
He glances around the room to assure privacy, then opens the letter with earnest that even he cannot conceal. But as he rips opens it--  
  
It takes all he can not to destroy the evidence at once, even as it floats indiscriminately to the ground. The envelope is stuffed to the brim with rose petals, with no particular rhyme or reason. Just handfuls pressed carefully flat into a single layer... and now floating towards the floor.  
  
Perhaps he had been too eager to open the gift.  
  
As Seteth crouches to the ground, he sighs as he plucks the petals from its surface.  
  
For all the stoicism she shows, he cannot help but be caught off-guard by her occasional playfulness. Surprisingly, Byleth is a romantic at heart, if not in expression.  
  
_So this is your idea of keeping us secret?_  
  
He lets out a resigned breath and feels the urge to go and scold her for her recklessness. Handing off such a thing to Cyril... if the boy had chosen to take a look inside, then what could he _possibly_ say to cover it up? A proper scolding is exact what the professor needs... but even he can admit that it is more likely that he will end up doing much less scolding than he intends.  
  
...That is, perhaps, the reason he seeks her out anyway.  
  
He's learned from previous mistakes--his professor wastes no time running the campus from dawn until dusk without any regular haunts, so his only option is to interrupt Cyril's work and summon her himself. He does it with the simple excuse that he is too busy to meet her for tea... and when she arrives at his official doorway, his heart flutters with a giddiness that almost brings him to shame.  
  
"Seteth? You called?" He clears his throat and projects his voice.  
  
"Ah, yes, professor. Please, feel free to shut the door behind you. This mission seems as though it's quite serious." Byleth nods, then reaches for the door. As she shuts it--  
  
"Oh, _hi_, professor." A coy voice sounds on the other side of the door. "Is Seteth in?"  
  
"I am, yes." His expression turns stern. "Unfortunately, the professor and I have much to discuss. Namely about how rude it is to pick up lost items and not direct them to their owners more promptly. In fact, just the other day, it was reported to me that--"  
  
Manuela cuts him off, to his relief. He is unsure he could come up with a way to make irritation over lost items convincing. "Well, I wouldn't take the gloves off. A slap on the wrist should do for something so small."  
  
"Small? _Small?_" He glares at Manuela and ignores Byleth's expression. Stoicism truly does have its benefits.  
  
"Yes, yes, I'm sure it matters to you. In any case, don't spank her _too_ hard. It's rare that we get a professor who looks so cute from behind, you know, and I don't want you to ruin it." She winks slyly at Byleth--to Seteth's great irritation. Manuela knows as much about their relationship as anyone else does--nothing at all--but he still finds her flirting most irritating. "I just wanted to be sure if we're still having that staff meeting in thirty minutes."  
  
"We are, yes. If there's any changes, I'll let you know." Manuela gives a quick wave and, as loathe as he is to admit it, Seteth is all too thankful to watch her go. Byleth shuts the door.  
  
_Click._  
  
He looks up at the sound of the lock. At the sound of her voice.  
  
"You called, Seteth?"  
  
He frowns. "I did. Because you are being all too reckless." He lowers his voice as she draws closer to him. "I cannot believe I have to say this but _you cannot have Cyril delivering love notes across the campus! _It is much too risky." She walks up to his chair and caresses his cheek with the back of her hand. Seteth avoids surrendering his face to her touch. "Byleth, are you listening to me?" She draws his chin upwards.  
  
"I hear you."  
  
He hadn't asked if she heard him--he wanted to know if she was listening... but as her face draws near, it's in direct proportion to his protests weakening. By the time she's bent to his level, his eyes are barely open, lips parted and moist and ready. "_Tsk._" She lets out an amused breath.  
  
"You are such a dragon, Seteth."  
  
He opens his eyes, not quite following. "Powerful as the goddess?" She is so close to his face that he can't help but smile as he notes the unmistakable mischief that glistens in her eyes.  
  
"Full of hot air." He makes a noise of mock offense, but as Byleth chuckles quietly, he takes the moment to lean forward to remove the space between them. Her lips gladly oblige, tenderly savoring his mouth with the soft patience of a saint. The thought sounds most bizarre. The patience of... himself?  
  
He cups her cheek wholly, drawing her closer until she is practically in his lap, leaning over him in a way that can't be comfortable if by the way she grimaces and pulls away is any indication. He slides his chair back slightly, making space on his lap if she wished to continue, but instead she stands for a moment longer.  
  
"A student slapped Gautier and declared that very phrase. I'd never heard it before then." It's times like these that he remembers that Byleth was hardly socialized as a child. She smiles at him with innocent pleasure, eyes so sweet that it almost seems as though flowers are blooming around her face. "The terms that the students coin..." Byleth shakes her head, a smile fluttering across her lips.  
  
Seteth narrowly avoids pointing out that she is practically their age, but resists out of the simple worry that she might ask how old _he_ is.  
  
_Ah, well. We will cross that bridge when we get to it._

It is not a question she has yet asked, but he is still preparing himself for the truthful answer he is surely required to give her.  
  
Shaking her head, Byleth eases into Seteth's lap, sliding her arms casually around his shoulders. He looks her in the face tenderly, eyes taking in the features that he so rarely got a chance to drink in with such detail. If he looked at her the way he wanted to when they were amongst the students... even the goddess would scold him for the strength of his feelings crowding out the piety of any other thoughts. She holds him close, stroking his hair with light fingers. "I'm... glad I came here. That we met."  
  
Seteth brushes her hair from her face, his thumb stroking her cheek gently. He has lived many lives, and truth be told, he had expected this one to be most uneventful... yet, now, with Byleth in his arms, he cannot imagine the rest of this life without her. It is a shame, then, that this pleasure too, will pass. He intends to savor it to the end.  
  
"Thank you for the flowers." ..._my love_. He wishes he could say as much aloud, but he has only succumbed once when he told her he wanted her, and he doesn't intend on doing it again. Not while their current circumstances flourish. If he has resisted calling Flayn by her true name for this many years, then he can resist this, too. Seteth lightly touches the underside of her chin. "They smell of you. Your work in the greenhouse is paying off." Byleth smiles graciously, then turns his face toward her with a gentle hand. Shifting her weight, she presses her mouth to his.  
  
With her whole weight in his arms, Seteth cannot help his hands and where they wander. He is certain that when they began, they rested around her waist, holding her securely in place--but then somehow, he was caressing the firm thighs of a woman of war, her body warm and strong. All the while, her tongue strokes against his, quietly tasting the sweetness of these rare moments together.  
  
On the battlefield, there is blood and sweat and dust, the screaming call of his wyvern, and the strict commands of Byleth to lead them to victory. But here... here there is only her silent lips that say the most beautiful things as they trail along his cheeks and scatter across his eyelids. Above all, he feels love in a way he did not expect from the mercernary, and if he had not seen her cut down lesser soldiers with his own eyes, he would not believe her hands capable of such duality.  
  
There is little softness in Byleth's body, and his hands know it well. In fact, there is only one place of her that he knows is soft for certain--and his thoughts stutter to a halt at the idea of pressing his mouth to the exposed skin on her chest. Unlike he, she wears no high necked color. There is nothing obstructing him from perusing her flesh with his all-too eager lips.  
  
_Nothing except time, that is._  
  
There is still the staff meeting to be held, after all.  
  
...How frustrating, to constantly be limited by status and obligation in this way. It would please him all too well if only he could steal her away successfully, even for just one day with his professor... but as is, he must make do with their elicit moments when he could. Seteth kisses Byleth once more. He is drunk on this moment, dizzyingly so.  
  
He could never say such thoughts aloud but his heart thrums steadily in his chest. He wishes he had a moment to see just a bit more of his professor. _Just a bit more..._  
  
In his moment of weakness, his lips trail down to the corner of her chin, then to the bare expanse above her chest. Her voice rumbles within.  
  
"Eight minutes, Seteth." She sounds more breathy that he expects, a detail that pleases him even more than the fact that she knows just what he is thinking.  
  
He doesn't know any curses in this modern age, but he can think of a few ancient ones that haven't come to mind in an age. _How frustrating._  
  
He nips lightly at the skin of her chest, hard enough to make her jump but not so much so that it breaks the skin. She taps him lightly, warningly on the neck.  
  
"Careful. Manuela will find out if I have to go to her to have it healed."  
  
He looks up, feeling astonishingly playful. "Good. Perhaps then she'll stop flirting once she realizes you're taken." Byleth shrugs in reply.  
  
"Depends on the success of her latest date." They make eye contact, stifling laughter.  
  
"So she is doomed, then?"  
  
"Don't worry. I'll turn her down if you promise to do the same."  
  
Seteth snorts. "I don't think Manuela has found me appealing even in her wildest dreams. I'm hardly a man meant for loving." Byleth lifts an eyebrow. They are, after all, in a most compromising position, limbs tangled together. "You're a bit different, I think. If you hadn't taken the initiative..." He trails off. If she hadn't kissed him into silence that first time, he would be stuck brooding over her as he did so often in the past. Too attracted to walk away, but too arrogant to succumb.  
  
How glad he was that she had taken the first step.  
  
"Three minutes."  
  
_Curses_. He reluctantly loosens his arms, and the professor slips out of his lap, the warmth of her body drawing away. His hands take final excursions, stroking down her back in the ruse of steadying her. As he looks up at her, his eyes trail her body from navel to nose. And what a body it is. It takes all he can not to press his lips to the window on her torso, just to see whether or not her skin would heat up with surprise.  
  
Slapping her cheeks, Byleth reddens them, then makes an outlandishly angry expression. She looks just the way she used to when he would scold her over her teaching methods. _Wise._ She walks to the door, her voice stiff and her volume slightly louder.  
  
"I'll be sure to become a teacher that will live up the Garreg Mach's lofty standards." She slams the door behind her, leaving him wrestling with the grin that threatens to overtake his face. He must compose himself before the meeting, of course--but how difficult it will be when his hands smell so strongly of rose petals.

**Author's Note:**

> We don't know if Byleth can die... but even assuming she can't, Seteth wouldn't know that at this point. He might have more time loving her than he thinks...


End file.
